Tell Me
by cyrilandshirley
Summary: A bit of unashamed romantic fluff.  Brendan POV.


**Tell me**

"Say it," he says, looking me right in the eye, from underneath those arched eyebrows.

It's the first time he knows for sure that he's got me. I've kept him waiting a long time. He's kept me at arm's length, in his turn. Both scared, I guess, in our own ways. But we've been through enough.

We stood together in the park where I'd arranged to meet him. It was awkward, finding the words. My eyes darted about, finding it hard to meet his gaze, but drawn back to him, his face, the expression, as if he couldn't let himself start hoping, but wanted to.

"We should … we should give this thing a go, then," I said. My throat felt tight. My chest constricted. I was crossing a line I believed I would never, could never cross. I was pushing against it, everything I knew, and it hurt. But funny how the closer I got to it, the more it seemed to be melting away, that line. It was getting blurred. It was disappearing, this cage that had held me all my life. That's all it took. Some words.

"This thing?" he said. His mouth was vulnerable.

"Yeah … you know, what you wanted." My insides were in a knot. Something felt like it was dancing in my intestines in hobnailed boots.

He hesitated. "A relationship?"

"Yeah."

"A proper relationship?" He sounded as if he could hardly believe it. But wanted to.

"Yeah."

"And … people would know?" he asked me, his face full of doubt.

I looked him full in the eye. "I don't care about people," I said.

"What do you care about?" he asked me, his lips slightly open.

I paused. "This," I said, making myself say it. Because he needed to hear me say it, out loud. I cleared my throat. Gestured to him, and back to me. "You and me. I care about this."

He squared up to me, a look of dawning hope on his face, but holding something back. Wary.

"Say it," he said.

"Say what?" I said.

He looked at me for what felt like a fucking long time. Scrutinizing me. "You know what," he said, eventually.

I paused, looked away, looked back. The words formed, but died on my lips, out here in the open.

"_I_ told _you_," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "I haven't forgotten."

Because he did. Twice. First when he came back to me, when he was lying on his back underneath me, his hands in my hair. I shut him up with my mouth, but I heard it. I heard it right in my gut, vibrating through my body. And second when he left. He was crying, when he did. He said he just couldn't wait any more. It did weird things to me, to hear him say it. I knew it. I'd known it for a long time. But I'd never let anyone say that to me before, not like that anyway. Not like him. I let him walk away, the second time. I let myself sit, and think. I let myself think about life without him in it, after all this time, all these months, fighting, fucking, teasing, cajoling, talking, not talking, hurting, protecting. I had had to face the thought of him being hurt, and it drove me to some terrible things. I had had to face the thought of life without him, and it just wasn't an option. My hands shook. I rubbed them together, to steady them. I had spent so long with a foot in two worlds, or balancing along the top of a fence, like those cats you see. I couldn't stay on that fence any more. Now, I had to jump. Forward or back. Both scared the shit out of me, and nothing scares me, usually. That was yesterday. This is today. I jumped. I called. He came.

"Why should I risk it," he said, "unless you tell me?"

I hesitated, now. I was aware of my breathing, shallow, in and out. I reached across and took his hand. I had never done that before. He looked down at our hands, almost in shock, and then looked up. His mouth was open in surprise. I didn't wait for any more words.

"I'll show you why," I said. And I started to walk, fast, towards the flat, taking him with me through the village by the hand, as he almost ran alongside me.

Cheryl was sitting on the sofa with a magazine. She looked up. I dropped his hand. We were both out of breath. There was a silence as she looked at us, in surprise. Took me in. Took him in. I took out some cash and held it out.

"Go shopping for a coupla hours, will ya, sis?" I said to her.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. She looked confused. Then surprised. Then confused. She furrowed her brow.

"Why?" she asked me.

I took a deep breath. Looked her right in the eye. Spoke softly. "Don't tell me you don't know," I said.

She looked at me, my expression, then at him again. He was looking at me, his face full of amazement, and something else. Her face froze. She took a sudden breath, but said nothing.

"Oh," she said, eventually. "Oh."

She got up off the sofa, without seeming to know what she was doing. Then she seemed to come to a decision. She held out a hand, took the money, picked up her bag, and walked straight out of the door, trying not to look at him.

He looked at me, and laughed out loud.

"I can't believe you just …"

"Come here …" I said, and grabbed his hand, and led him fast into the bedroom.

The door closed. I span him round to face me and backed him towards the bed.

And that's how we come to stand here, face to face. I dip my head and my mouth comes close to his, anticipating the taste of it. He opens his mouth, but not for a kiss.

"Say it," he says.

I scan his face. And then I kiss him, and his mouth opens further, delicious. My hands come up to cradle under his jawline, pull him in to me. I kiss him long, and hard, and feel him respond, as if he wants to see how far I'll go. I break away, and we are both breathing, fast. I push him down onto the bed, and climb on top of him, pushing one thigh between his legs so he catches his breath. I watch his face, as he bites his lip, and I look down into his face. But he puts a hand on my chest.

"Say it," he says, again, steadying his voice.

I smile at him and my hands go to the hem of his T shirt, pulling it up over his chest to his armpits, leaving his chest bare. I bend my head and clamp my lips over one of his nipples, just nuzzling, and then licking roughly, the way I know he likes. His hands are in my hair though, and he pulls my head up again.

"Say it," he says, looking into my eyes.

I unfasten the belt of his jeans, and mine, and lower myself onto him again. He is all warmth, and his head goes back, and I can feel his heart pounding in his chest as our cocks rub together through our boxers. This is what he does to me. He drives me crazy with wanting him. I don't know when it happened but I started to need this. To need him. I can't manage without him anymore. He is essential to me, his body, his voice, his face, his arms. I just want to bury myself in him and stay buried. It is him, and me, and nobody else's godamn business. I feel his hands go to my shoulders, as if to stop me again, to push me off, but I take his wrists, and I lift them over his head and push them down into the bed. I don't hurt him. He's going nowhere. I'm going nowhere. This is how it's going to be. I look into his face. His guard is almost completely down. His chest pounds against mine. Or maybe it's mine pounding against his.

He scans my face, like the first time, when he kissed me, and he wasn't sure where it was taking him, but he still made the leap. I wonder, sometimes, if he's braver than me in some things.

"Say it, Brendan," he says, his voice quiet.

Something thumps, in my chest. I bend my head and kiss him, slowly, his mouth. Then his jawline, and his neck, as he turns his head to let me. Then his eyelids. Then I pull back, and release his hands, though he leaves them where they are, abandoned, behind his head. I stroke his hair back from his brow, and then his face.

He looks at me. He waits. But he says absolutely nothing. Finally. Finally, he has shut up. He looks serious, almost sad, as if there's something he's lacking. Something he wants. Something he needs, from me.

What do I do? Do I ask him to trust me? Believe in me? Stay with me? Why would he, really?

I bend my head again and come close. I look at his mouth, so close to mine, focus on that, how soft it is, how he lets me own it, what I can see of his teeth. I remember the first time, when I took him without feeling. Or I thought there was no feeling. I thought I could walk away easily, like I had done the other times. But he got under my skin. The taste of him. The feel of him. The knowledge of him. The way he talks, hopeful, afraid of no one. The way he listens. The way he walks, dragging his feet, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets. The way he frowns. The way he bites his lip. The way he argues, protests, hands in the air, driving me mad. The way he smiles. The look on his face when he's excited, the way it runs through his whole body, like a fucking puppy or something. The sound of him laughing. His crappy clothes. His skinny body, underneath those clothes. His taste in music. All of him. Just him. I brush my lips against his, very gently. Taste his breath.

"I love you."

I freeze frame for a second. Frown. Did those words come out of my mouth? Or his?

Mine. They came out of mine.

I pull back a little, look down at him. There is an expression on his face that I can't quite fathom. As if all the coordinates of his world have just fallen into place, and he's not sure what to do next. There's a silence. It's awkward.

"All right?" I ask him, raising my eyebrows. Cos I thought that was what he wanted.

And I watch that mouth curve into a smile that is bigger and brighter than all the other smiles in the world combined. To me, anyways.

"About fucking time," he says. And laughs.

And I kiss him again, and feel him curling his body round mine like a vine, his legs wrapping round me, one hand cradling the back of my head, buried in my hair, the other finding its way up the back of my T shirt, and lying splayed against my back.

It was easy, really. I love him. In an insane, driving me nuts kind of way. But I love him.

I guess he just needed to be told.


End file.
